Skin Changer
by Morrowyn
Summary: What if Beorn wasn't the last of his kind? Radagast's apprentice is sent, quite unwillingly, along on Thorin's quest, and is a general source of malcontent for the Company. What will happen when she proves herself useful?
1. Chapter 1

Sunlight fell in dappled warmth across the forest floor, the vibrant green of the leaves casting the light in a similar shade. A man strode across the foliage with purposeful strides, his brown robes barely a hindrance. Behind him, a small woman in white struggled to keep up, her shorter legs working twice as hard to match his pace.

The man kneeled beside the path, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Oh, no. This is bad, very bad. Ilma! Take this." The girl curled her lip at the rotted leaves in her hand, the blackened goo of them an all too familiar sight of late. Something was poisoning the forest.

Looking up, she found her companion far ahead of her, and she held her skirt up in an attempt to make more leg room. All along the path animals and plant life alike lay dying or dead, and Ilma had to wrench her eyes away, lest she fall too far behind. She panted as she reached the clearing where the little house she shared with her teacher lay nestled amongst the trees, pushing open the door to find the old man rushing about the main room, his panicked babbling adding to her already addled thoughts. Then she gasped.

On the table lay Sebastien, her master's dearest friend among the local hedgehog population, coughing in a small, wheezing voice.

"Master Radagast, what is happening?" She asked, her soft voice cracking. "I've never seen the wood so...defiled!"

Her master tried another remedy on the poor little mammal, muttering to himself as if he hadn't heard Ilma speak. "I don't understand, it's not as if it's witchcraft!" His head snapped up, meeting his student's gaze with his own, his expression serious.

"It is, isn't it?"

He nodded slowly. "A dark and powerful magic."

Shadows blocked the light from the windows, low scuttling sounds reaching their ears. Simultaneously they moved to block all the entrances, locking windows and barricading the door. As they finished, Sebastien gave a final whimper, his body relaxing into the sleep of death. Ilma looked to her master, the tears in his eyes dangerously close to spilling over. The walls seemed to close in on them, the beasts outside trying desperately to find a way in. Radagast waddled to the other side of the room where his staff was propped, reaching into the top of it a retrieving a blue jewel.

"What are you doing?" Mice ran across her feet, some climbing up her dress and finding refuge in her pale hair, others clambering onto her master where he now sat with Sebastien in his arms. "Master?" She called, but he was lost in a trance, his eyes rolling back into his head as he chanted words of power he'd only just begun to tell her about. Ilma drew her arms around herself, frightened by the creaking of the walls. She yelped as something broke through the thatching of the roof, one spindly leg blocking out the light of the sun as it reached into their home.

_Spiders_.

More and more holes appeared above her, and she brought her hands up to her hair where the mice took refuge, the motion as much for her comfort as it was for theirs.

Suddenly, the spiders stopped their aggressive entry and retreated, their silhouettes darks against the windows. Radagast stood, startling her, and handed her Sebastien as he ran for the door. To Ilma's immense relief, the little hedgehog looked just fine, her master's magic having drawn the poison from him. Following the old man outside, she took in the sudden amount of large webs in the trees. Her teacher stood not far away, speaking with a starling. Turning to her, he called out loudly.

"Ilma, I go now to track those foul creatures."

"Then I will follow-."

He held up a hand, halting her. "No, where I go is too dangerous for you. Besides, I need you to do something for me."

"Yes?"

A trace of the old sparkle could be seen in his eyes as he spoke. "I need you to find Gandalf."

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**So, this is my first Hobbit Fanfic, and I don't claim to be any sort of expert, but I know there are those of you that do, and I'd be much obliged for any advice or criticism. Thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin Oakenshield muttered under his breath as he followed the tall wizard's lead through the forest, his blue eyes trained on the canopy above. He'd never liked trees, having lived the entirety of his young life underground, but this forest seemed more alive than the others he'd encountered, the trees leaning toward each other in secret council.

"Ah," Gandalf said, pausing to lean on his staff. "On time, as usual, I see."

"What?" Thorin demanded, not keen on any more surprises.

"Her."

The dwarf king's gaze followed the old man's staff to where it pointed in the underbrush.

"There's no one there," Bofur whispered, exchanging concerned glances with Bombur, who grunted.

A rustling interrupted their murmuring, and they drew their weapons, nerves frayed after the troll incident. Loud and blundering, a great brown bear burst into the scene, its nose twitching as it whined at the dwarves.

"Gandalf!" There, on the beast's haunches, sat a woman in white, her dress barely brighter than her skin, her hair falling in snowlike waves down her back. Her pale brows were creased with worry as she continued. "Thank goodness I found you!"

"Now, now, Ilma," the grey robed wizard interrupted. "I would like to introduce you to my companions-."

"There is no time for that, Gandalf!" She slid from the bear's back, whispering in its ear in a language Thorin didn't understand, though the animal seemed to, as it ambled off into the forest without so much as a glance behind. "There is something wrong in the forest, and Radagast has gone to track it!"

"Radagast? You mean the wizard who lives in the forest and talks to animals?" asked Bilbo, and the woman turned to regard him oddly.

"Yes," she answered at long last, and the poor halfling squirmed beneath the intensity of her gaze. She then, quite suddenly, knelt down before him, her pale violet eyes, already wide with curiosity, made wider by her long, white lashes. "Are you a hobbit?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing it's pointed tip.

"Ah, yes, yes I am." Bilbo answered uncertainly, glancing up at Thorin, who was livid. He'd never expected to encounter elves on his mission to reclaim his homeland, and, even if this one was proving quite odd, he did not plan on letting one know of it.

Gandalf placed a hand on the pale elf's shoulder, drawing her focus back to him. "You said Radagast had gone somewhere?"

"Ah, yes!" She bounced to her feet, all levity gone from her countenance. "There were spiders as wide across as men, Gandalf! The likes of which I have never seen! Come," she gathered her skirts in one hand, stepping over a fallen log with practiced ease. "I will take you to him."

"Not so quickly, elf." She turned to Thorin, a beautifully confused expression on her face. "I will go nowhere with you."

She cocked her head. "I'm sorry, I had assumed that you would prefer to stay together, but if you don't want to come you don't have to."

He bristled visibly; did this elfmaid not recognize a dwarf when she saw one? If she did, was she so removed from the troubles of the world that she couldn't realize why he would not follow her? Surely the tales of Erabor were still more than myth.

Gandalf gave a weary sigh. "It's not where you lead, but the fact that you are elfkind that dissuades him so."

She scoffed. "Well, what's that got to do with anything?" She gave Thorin her full attention, her eyes looking him up and down before moving on to regard the rest of his Company. "Thirteen dwarves would be more than enough to overpower me should I prove a threat - which I _won't_. Really, friend Dwarf, you should not worry so," she stepped up to him and placed one pale finger between his furrowed brows. "You'll age."

He took a livid step back, his hands holding his newfound blade between them, the elfwoman's eyes widening, hand still hanging in the air. "Do not touch me, elf!"

Everyone was still for a long moment, the only movement the elf's eyes as she looked from her hand to Thorin's face. Then she pulled her arms around herself, seeming to shrink with the gesture. "My name is Ilma," she said quietly, her eyes downcast. "May I ask yours, Master Dwarf?"

For a split instant, Thorin almost felt guilty for driving her into her shell, her exuberant personality gone from sight. Just when he might have allowed that feeling to mature to fruition, a rustling even greater than the one the elf had made upon the bear rang out through the forest, all the dwarves raising their arms against what foe had made it. Rabbits burst from the underbrush, pulling a sleigh behind them where an odd man in brown shouted unintelligibly, his gaze wild as it darted about the party.

"Radagast," Gandalf chuckled familiarly, sheathing his sword. "It's Radagast the Brown!" He approached his fellow wizard with a smile on his face. "What on earth are you doing here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Ilma sat on a protruding tree root, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as she waited for Radagast to finish his conversation with Gandalf the Grey. She was carefully avoiding the curious gazes of the dwarves, her own eyes focused on a small grub squirming in the dirt below. She frowned; never in all her years had she seen the forest so ill at ease. Sickness itself was not uncommon, especially with the trees, but not something that affected plants and animals alike.

A pair of hairy toes entered her field of vision, and she followed them up to the hobbit's nervous face. "You said your name was Ilma, correct?"

She nodded slowly, "Yes, I did."

He stuck his hand out before him, his weight shifting anxiously. "Bilbo Baggins of Bag Eng, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ilma smiled, some of her confidence returning. "The pleasure's all mine."

They clasped hands, and Bilbo seemed to have a conversation with himself before speaking, something Ilma filed away for future reference. "I've never seen an elf before, are they all...like you? You know," he made an indiscernible gesture with his hands. "So _white_?'

She raised a brow, resisting the urge to laugh as he became even more flustered. Then she scoffed. "No, I should think not."

He cocked his head in confusion, his mouth opening before he closed it again. "You think?"

She smiled, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "I've never met an elf, either."

The poor hobbit looked even more befuddled, and Ilma had to resist the urge to laugh. "But, you _are_ one."

She winked, finally allowing herself a giggle. The halfling snorted, his lips twitching into an almost smile, but he cast a glance at the dwarves and it fell.

"So tell me, friend hobbit," she continued in the hopes of lifting both his spirit and hers. "What brings you to the Greenwood?"

"Well, that's-."

"_That_ is none of your business, elf." The dwarf leader spat form where he stood leaning against a moss laden tree. He turned his icy gaze to Bilbo, "Members of this company should not be fraternizing with the enemy."

Ilma's eyes widened, "I am not your enemy, Master dwarf. Although," she lowered her brows into a scowl. "You can make me one. Personally, I'd rather kiss a warg."

A couple of the younger dwarves guffawed, but were silenced by an odd, barking call.

"Wolves?" Bilbo asked, obviously frightened. "Are there wolves in this forest?"

"Yes, there are," Ilma answered, standing. "But that was no wolf."

A large black warg leapt from the outcropping above them, only to be killed by a single swing of the leader's sword. Another came at him from behind, but it was shot down. Ilma stared at their corpses for a moment, her hands at her throat, before looking to the sky.

"I'd rather kiss a pumpkin pasty!" The dwarves exchanged glances as she looked around expectantly. She sighed in resignation. "Oh well, it was worth a try."

The two wizards came rushing over just as the dwarf leader pulled his blade from his kill. "Warg scouts," he shouted. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orcs?" Ilma looked to Gandalf in accusation. "You brought orcs into my forest?"

The grey robed man did not reply, instead addressing the dwarf. "Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?"

"No one."

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear! What in Durin's name is going on?"

Gandalf looked to all the dwarves around him. "You are being hunted."

"We have to get out of here," a big dwarf said.

"Yes," Ilma agreed. "Please do, and take your orcs with you." They glared at her, but she wasn't overly concerned with their impression of her.

"We can't!" A young one shouted from the outcropping. "We have no ponies, they've bolted."

Well, that was just fantastic.

"I'll draw them off," Radagast suggested in the tone she knew meant he was seriously considering it.

"No," she shouted, crossing the way and placing a hand on his arm. "If they catch you they'll kill you."

"These are Rustabell rabbits, as you well know." A mischievous twinkle entered his eyes. "I'd like to see them try." And with that he turned and mounted his rabbit drawn sled, clucking his tongue to wake them up. "You'd best go with Gandalf, Ilma. These parts aren't safe anymore."

"What?" she exclaimed, indignant. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Do it for me if not for yourself," he adjusted his mangled hat. "I'll feel more at ease if you're with warriors who can protect you."

She looked over her shoulder at the dwarves who looked anxious to be leaving. She sighed heavily before turning back to the eccentric old wizard. "Alright."

He smiled widely. "That's my girl." And then he was off.


	4. Chapter 4

The baying of wargs filled the forest air, spurring the dwarf band on. Thorin ran at the back of the group, unwilling to leave anyone behind. Unfortunately, this put him right beside the elfwoman, her strides limited by her narrow skirts. The more he saw of her, the more he became determined not to associate with her. She was smaller than the elves he'd encountered in his youth, but this may have been a side effect of her /condition/. There was no doubt in his mind, it was the same paleness that afflicted Azog the Defiler, though his did nothing to stunt his growth. The girl stumbled over the rocks, and for the first time he took note of her bare feet, small and delicate and bleeding. The scent would bring the wargs right on them!

The elf seemed to notice this as well, and, cursing, stopped to lean against a large boulder, running a hand over each foot.

"Hurry, elf!" He called behind him, barely slowing. "We cannot wait for you!"

To his surprise, she caught up rather quickly, and, when he looked, her feet were no longer bleeding. She had used some sort of magic to heal herself. Disgusted, he made his way to the front of Company. The orc pack crossed their path, and they all stopped abruptly. They changed direction, only to be cut off again, and Gandalf urged them back the way they came. Something was off.

"Where are you leading us?" He demanded, but the old wizard avoided the question, falling in line behind the dwarves and leaving him alone with the elf again. She was not panting, but her face was becoming quite red with exertion. Gandalf urged them all against a stone, and she shrank against it with a heavy, though silent, sigh. They quieted as the growling of a warg reached their ears, the cold sound of a blade being drawn sending them into complete silence. Thorin looked up at the orc, and nodded to his nephew, who understood the signal and drew his bow in silence, turning and shooting the warg. The creature's yelp rang out across the rock littered hills, and he winced internally. The elf beside him held her hands to her ears, her pale eyes wide with horror as she watched the Company converge on the animal and its rider. Once both were dead, she drew a shaky breath.

"Was that really necessary?"

Thorin spared her a glare, and she looked down, clearly ashamed. The howling of the warg pack grew suddenly louder, and Gandalf bade them run. The Company was on the move again, running for all it was worth, changing direction every time the beasts crossed their path. Thorin had an inkling suspicion that Gandalf was directing them somewhere, but was unable to dwell in it, as they were soon surrounded.

Kili began picking off the riders with his bow, but for every one shot down, another rose to take its place. Thorin cursed under his breath, he should not have had his nephew kill the first beast. A riderless warg circled the group, teeth bared, lunging for Ori, who stumbled back.

"Ori!" Nori shouted, rushing toward his brother, but was stopped by Fili's hand.

Thorin watched as the elf placed herself between warg and dwarf, raising her hand before the beast. Miraculously, it stopped, cowering before the white woman, her back straight and head held proudly. She yelled something in a language he could not understand, and the warg ran where she pointed, away from the dwarves.

It was one warg of many, but, still, it was impressive. The rest of the back pressed in around them, and Thorin finally drew his blade.

"Hold your ground!" He shouted. If they were going to die here, they would take every orc with them. And, blast it, where was Gandalf?

The old wizard's voice, as if summoned by the dwarf king's thoughts, cried out from behind them. "This way, you fools!"

They all turned, immediately heading for the hole in the ground their tall companion had gone into. Thorin jumped onto a rock, determined to see every member of his company to safety.

"Quickly, all of you!"

Dwarf after dwarf leapt into the abyss, until only Thorin, Kili and the elf were still above ground.

"Kili!" He cried, not willing to leave his young nephew to an uncertain fate. "Run!"

The dark haired dwarf shot down another orc before turning to answer his call, two warg riders close behind him. When Kili was close enough to the mouth of the cave that he would most certainly make it, Thorin followed his men below. Only once he was standing there did he realize that the elfwoman was not with them. Kili leapt into the hole, followed closely by the elf, and the king had to smother a swell of disappointment. She pressed her hands to the wall of the cave, and roots burst through to cover the opening, their tips jagged spikes.

The dwarves exchanged glances and whispers, and Thorin would have demanded an explanation, but a horn sounded above them and they all fell silent. A struggle could be heard, and an orc fell, screaming, upon the roots. Once it had stilled, Thorin approached it's corpse where it hung above him, and pulled an arrow from its torso.

"Elves," he said in disgust, tossing the arrow aside. He looked up at Gandalf, somehow knowing that the old man was up to something.

"I canno' see where the passage leads!" Dwalin called from the dimly lit antechamber. "Do we follow it or no?"

Bofur wasted no time in answering. "Follow it, of course!"  
The dwarves filed in behind Dwalin, and when Thorin turned to see if all had followed, he saw the elfmaid looking out through the net of roots she had created, her face still red despite their short respite. She looked sad, almost pained, to be leaving, and, when she turned to him, there were tears in her eyes.

"I have never left the Greenwood, Master dwarf," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "And now I find I may not return."

"You may always return to your home," he said with vehemence; after all, was he not doing that very thing?

The pale woman shook her head sadly, stepping away from the mouth of the cave. "The trees say goodbye, and they only do that when one will never return."

He stood there a moment after she had gone, staring hard at the twisted roots and the corpse which they held. Elf or not, it would seem that, in their quest to reclaim their home, they had cost the woman her own.

* * *

**I feel like Thorin's a bit OOC there at the end... Tell me if you agree, and how I can fix it while keeping the integrity of the scene.**


	5. Chapter 5

Ilma pressed a hand to her burning face, cursing her condition and the growing banality of such burns. She had spent minimal time in the sun, and already she felt her skin peeling. The dappled sunlight of the Greenwood had never burned her too badly, but she would never go back there, would she? She sighed in abject misery as Bilbo came up beside her.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. "The sunburn, I mean."

Ilma smiled at the little man, his genuine, if halting, concern touching. "No need to worry, friend hobbit, I am quite used to it."

His brow creased in the way she had come to recognize, he did it so often. "Is it because...because of your..."

"My albinism?" She supplied, and he had the decency to look away. "It's not something to shy away from, friend hobbit. It _is_ glaringly obvious."

"Bilbo."

"Excuse me?"

"Please, call me Bilbo."

She smiled. "Of course, but only if you return the favor."

They walked together in comfortable silence behind the dwarves, the cave walls widening and the light growing brighter as they neared what Ilma hoped was an opening. Stepping out onto a cliff, she held her breath in awe as the men around her exchanged whispers. Down in the valley below an elegant city lay nestled against the rock face, its brilliant architecture blending it seamlessly into the surrounding forest. Somehow, Ilma knew instinctively that this place had been built by elves.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf said, confirming her suspicions. "In the common tongue it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo whispered beside her, his face open in its awe.

She nodded despite knowing he wouldn't see it. "Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea."

The dwarf leader climbed back up the steps to them, his face twisted into a heavy scowl.

"This was your plan all along," he accused. "To seek refuge with our enemy."

Gandalf looked down at him, his expression one part confused, three parts exasperated. "You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield." Aha! So _that_ was his name. "The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!"

Thorin glanced at Ilma before continuing in a more subdued tone. "You think the _elves_ will give our quest their blessing?" Why not? It wasn't really any of their business, anyhow. "They will try to stop us," he finished, shaking his head.

"Of course, they will." Gandalf agreed. "But we have questions that need to be answered." The dwarf looked down in what would have been called shame if it were worn by anyone else; on him it just looked sad. "If we are to be successful," Gandalf continued. "This will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Ilma snorted. "You, sir, are unbelievable."

The old wizard gave her a withering glance, "And you, Ilma Lossëa? Will you enter the house of Elrond?"

Her lip curled of its own volition. "It would seem I do not have much choice, Gandalf Greyhame. Though where I go from there will _not_ be of _any_one else's choosing. Excuse me," she added for Bilbo's benefit, nodding politely to Thorin Oakenshield before marching stubbornly away from the obstinacy she knew was no one's but her own.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm sorry! So, so sorry! At first, Thorin did _NOT _want to cooperate, and then I didn't have access to the movie so I couldn't rewrite the scene...And then I got lazy...Don't hurt me.**

******・㉨・**

* * *

Thorin kept his gaze straight ahead of him, adamantly dismissing the elven splendor of the city around him. This proved to be rather difficult, as the elf of the Greenwood was a constant in his peripheral. Her white hair caught the light in a way that made it impossible to ignore, the twinkling of it continuously catching his attention. He could avoid it by falling further back in the group, but to do so was to put himself in a position below the elf, and that was _not_ something he was willing to do. And so he walked beside her as they crossed a narrow stone bridge, the blasted woman unaware of the trouble she put him through.

The Company clumped together, exchanging whispers at the foot of a staircase, all of them nervously awaiting their welcome. An elf came down the steps, demeanor arrogant in the way of elves. Gandalf went to speak with him, and their elf took a cautious step back. Bilbo looked up at her in confusion.

"I thought you'd be thrilled to meet one of your own kind." He said, and several dwarves stopped their chatter to listen, Thorin included.

The elf smiled. "I guess that means you didn't believe me when I said I'd never met an elf before."

Whatever Bilbo would have said in reply was cut off by a horn sounding behind them. A contingent of riders cantered across the bridge, and Thorin tensed.

"Close ranks!" He commanded, and the members of the Company drew together, enclosing the little hobbit within their circle. The elf woman stepped away, edging toward the staircase as her mounted kin rode into the courtyard from across the bridge. Horse upon horse bore down upon them, cantering about them in a loose circle. One elf, sitting astride a black horse, came to a halt in front of Gandalf, greeting him.

The wizard returned the gesture identifying the elven stranger as Lord Elrond, head of Rivendell before engaging in a short conversation in elvish. Thorin growled to himself, not liking being left out of the discussion.

The elf dismounted, embracing the old man before walking past him and handing his aid his blade.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders," he began, his voice cultured in the way of elves. "Something or someone has drawn them near."

"Ah," Gandalf smiled. "That may have been us." He gestured to the dwarves, and Thorin left the comfort of the group, holding his axe low yet still at the ready as he suffered the elf lord's scrutiny.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain," the taller man said, approaching him.

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied curtly, matching the elf's gaze.

"You have your grandfather's bearing," Elrond smiled.

"Ah! There you are," Gandalf interrupted, dragging a struggling elfmaiden from her hiding place. "My lord Elrond, allow me to introduce Ilma Lossëa, apprentice of Radagast the Brown. She accompanied us when the orcs attacked."

Elrond's attention shifted, and Thorin privately admitted that he was rather relieved. "_Snow-white Starlight_; a very poetic name, Maid Lossëa, and very fitting."

The woman nodded stiffly. "Thank you, my lord. It was a gift."

Elrond smiled benignly before speaking in elvish, loud enough that most in the courtyard could hear him. Once again, the lyrical elvish set Thorin on edge, and he looked to the elfmaid for translation. Catching his angry gaze, she shrugged, her expression bewildered.

"What does he say?" Gloin called out from, the group of dwarves behind him. "Does he offer us insult, lass?"

She shook her head. "I don't speak elvish, master dwarf. I'm as clueless as you."

Gandalf chuckled wryly. "No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food."

The woman looked from the wizard to the dwarves and said, "He's offering you food."

Thorin rolled his eyes before leaning back to consult a fellow dwarf, Dwalin, just as many others in his Company were.

"What say you," he whispered in dwarvish. "Can we trust them?"

The taller warrior shook his head minutely. "I'm not sure, but I'm sure the others could use a bite."

Sure, others.

They stood apart as Gloin stepped out from the clump.

"Ahem," he began. "Well, in that case, lead on."


	7. Chapter 7

**Yay! Another so soon! I'm so proud of myself!**

******・㉨・**

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Ilma scowled as one of the elf women Lord Elrond had assigned her tightened the fastenings of her borrowed dress. A royal blue, the overlong garment was supposed to bring attention away from her sunburn - which was already fading, thanks to some elven magic - , and to her hair, which had been braided rather intricately, and painfully, in the fashion of unmarried elfmaids.

Or, at least, that's what she'd been told.

She refused to put on the shoes, though, claiming religious reasons when the older women insisted. Honestly, how was she supposed to commune with the earth if she couldn't feel it?

The women chattered amongst themselves as they worked, taking full advantage of the fact that Ilma couldn't understand them. She spoke bear, and Black Speak, _and_ Entish, but she'd never gotten around to learning her mother tongue.

Oh, how she was regretting it now.

She sighed in resignation as a sheer overdress was slipped over her shoulders and clipped on with bracelets at her elbows and a high, corseting belt. She couldn't believe the layers elven women were expected to wear; her overdress was even longer than the dress itself.

"There," one elf said as she lay a simple coronet onto Ilma's head. "You are finished."

Thanking the women for their time, if not their efforts, Ilma made her escape. Ducking down a hallway with every intention of getting lost, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she found herself confronted with a balcony. Stepping out into the fading sunlight, she let her mind drift as the breeze hit her face.

Her burn was going to get worse.

But that was fine, she'd been burnt before.

Then again, there was that one time when-

"Ahem."

She jumped, a hand flying to her heart as she turned to face whoever had spoken. The elf behind her smiled a bit crookedly at her antics, and she felt herself blush.

Hopefully she could pass it off as sunburn.

"My lady," he bowed, his long hair falling about his face attractively. "If it pleases you, I will escort you to where your company dines."

It most certainly did _not_ "please her"

She bowed her head politely. "You are too kind." Taking his offered hand in one of her own, she held her skirts with her other as she'd seen the women of Rivendell do. She must've looked pretty good, as several elves, and even some of the dwarves, looked up from whatever they were doing as she and her escort entered the open dining hall. Swallowing nervously, she allowed herself to be steered into a vacant seat at a table shared by Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin. Of course, the only open seat was next to the dwarf.

Well, technically it was next to Gandalf, as well, but he didn't count.

"Ah, Ilma, welcome." Elrond said graciously. "We were just discussing how your companions came across blades crafted by High Elves in a troll horde."

She looked to Gandalf. "The trio that took up residence on the East Road?"

The old man's eyebrows rose. "You knew of them?"

Ilma nodded sagely. "Yes, though I did not deal with them directly. Several creatures were driven from their homes in the caves."

"Ah, yes," Elrond said, putting down his glass. "You are trained in the ways of the wood elf, are you not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you mind my asking which Kingdom you originate from? I am sure they would like word of your arrival here in Rivendell."

Ilma sighed as she picked at the food before her. "I don't belong to any kingdom, my lord Elrond. I was cast out at a young age, as most of my kind are."

There was a silence, and the elf lord looked at her sadly. "How old are you child?"

The elfmaid thought back through the years, not exactly confident as she said, "About five hundred, or so. Why?"

Elrond's eyes widened. "Why, you are but a child! At what age were you cast out?"

Ilma grew quiet and stared at her hands where they lay on the table. "I do not remember living with my people, my lord. If I may," she added, meeting the elf lord's worried gaze. "I would like to walk amongst the trees."

"Of course, my dear. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you. Excuse me." She stood, sweeping her skirts out from beneath her as she left the dining hall, gladly exchanging the din of conversation for the quiet breeze as she descended a wide staircase and made her way into a large, high walled garden. The trees whispered to her, the tinkling of their leaves beckoning.

_Come_, they called. _Come and sit beneath us, and we shall gift you with our splendor._

Obviously elven arrogance was contagious.

Ilma ignored the summons of the tall, beautifully maintained trees, filtering out their hubris in her search for a humbler resting place. Then, she heard it.

_Please sit with me, fair maiden. Your flesh is weak and your body weary, and, though they are nothing compared to my greater brethren, I have both shade and trunk to comfort you._

Smiling to herself, she made her way to the tree that, though of the same breed as the others in the garden, was twisted and stunted, with leaves growing on only one side. It had suffered a harsh winter in its youth, and never recovered, and yet, it was the most beautiful tree in all of Rivendell.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks Sam0728 for the review.**

**************・㉨・**

* * *

"It is the legacy of my people," Thorin ground out as Gandalf insisted he show the elf lord his map. "It is mine to protect, as are its secrets."

The old wizard rolled his eyes. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves; your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map! Show it to Lord Elrond."

Thorin met the elf's gaze, clenching his jaw as he reaching into his overcoat and withdrew the folded map left to him by his father. He swallowed, steeling his nerves as he took a step forward.

"Thorin, no." Balin said, placing a hand on his arm. He brushed it off, glancing down at the parchment in his hand before handing it to the elf.

The lord of Rivendell took one glance at the map before looking at Thorin sharply. "Erebor? What is your interest in this map?"

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, fully intending to tell the elf _exactly_ why they needed a translation.

"It's mainly academic," Gandalf answered in his place, giving him a pointed look. "As you know, artifacts of this kind often contain hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?" he added as Elrond began pacing the library floor.

"I do, yes," he said over his shoulder, a small smile crossing his face. "But there is another here who claims fluency." He turned his gaze upward. "Tolo hí, pinig. I know you are there."

There was a slight rustling, and Thorin felt fury well in his gut that someone he didn't know had overheard their conversation. His eyes widened as the pale elf of the Greenwood slid down a ladder, her bare feet making no sound as they hit the floor. She looked to Elrond with annoyance.

"I know you wouldn't, but it really sounded like you called me a pig."

Bilbo snorted and Thorin cast a glare his way, silencing him. "Woman, why are you here?"

She turned her moonlit eyes on him, and he shivered at the effect. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile. "Why, reading, of course. What else would I do in a library?"

"Ilma, I didn't know you read ancient dwarvish." Gandalf said, approaching the small elfmaid.

The female drew into herself, eyeing the wizard warily. "I am not familiar with all of the runes, but I can make it through a sentence unaided if I must. Why?"

Elrond smiled fondly down at the woman, and Thorin felt a weight lift off his shoulders. If she chose to stay, then she would at least have a mentor. For some reason, it had been bothering him.

"Can you read this?"

He held the map out to her, and she automatically reached out to take it. Her fingers had barely brushed the parchment when she pulled back, her eyes meeting Thorin's.

"May I, Master Oakenshield?"

He squared his shoulders, nodding. Her acknowledgement of his authority was a display that the elf lord could not have ignored if he tried.

She took the map in her hands, her violet eyes running up and down and side to side, her lips moving as she read. She stepped up onto the open dias that took up most of the library, the moonlight catching in her hair as she paced. Stopping, she turned to face them with a smile on her face.

"There are moon runes on this map," she announced, holding it in the air and gesturing wildly at it. Just like a child.

"Of course there are," Gandalf sighed happily. He looked over his shoulder at his shorter companions. "An easy thing to miss."

"In any case," Elrond began, retrieving the map from the young elleth and sending her into a pout. "Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the one by which they were written."

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. "Can you read them?"

Elrond smiled with infuriating confidence. "Yes, I can. Pinig, you will accompany us."

The woman started visibly. "Me? But I -."

Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder. "You cannot pretend you are not fascinated by the concept."

"Well, no, I suppose I can't, but," she looked to Thorin again, her white brows creased anxiously. "It really isn't my place."

Well, the girl had a better grasp on the situation than he'd given her credit for.

"She can come," he heard himself say. "A second pair of eyes won't hurt us." He justified, more to himself than anyone else, and her wide smile eased the tension in his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**This one's really short_! _(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻**

**But so was the scene... ┬──┬◡ﾉ(° -°ﾉ)**

**Either way, I hope you enjoy! I like Ilma in this chapter.**

**(✪㉨✪)**

* * *

Ilma walked behind Thorin as Elrond lead the way into a cave behind a magnificent waterfall. She gasped at the beauty of the moonlight against the falling water, and Thorin exhaled heavily. She looked at him and met his glare.

"What? It's pretty."

He rolled his eyes and stomped past her in typical angry dwarf fashion. She cast a bemused glance at Bilbo, but his attention was on Elrond, who was speaking.

"These runes were written on a midsummer's eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It seems you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines on us tonight."

What a coincidence.

Ilma watched as the moonlight fell upon the shiny altar, illuminating it from within. The light beneath the map brought the silvery runes she'd glimpsed in the library to the surface, and Elrond began began to read.

"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

Ah, Dwarvish. So much written, so little said.

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo asked Balin.

"It's the Dwarven New Year," Ilma answered, only to receive another glare from Thorin. She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, wiping it from his face.

"Summer is passing," he said to his companions. "Durin's Day will soon be upon us."

"We still have time," Balin replied reassuringly.

"Time for what?"Bilbo asked, confused.

"To find the entrance," Ilma said matter of factly, surprising the old dwarf. "You'd have to be standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time if you want to open the door."

"So that is your purpose?" Elrond interjected, his voice bearing a subtle anger. "To enter the mountain?"

"What of it?" Thorin responded, and Ilma rolled her eyes at his childishness.

"There are some," the elf lord said, handing the map back to its owner. "Who would not deem it wise."

Very passive aggressive of him.

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked.

Elrond looked from the wizard to Ilma. "You are not the only guardians to stand watch over Middle Earth."

He stormed off, leaving Ilma to wipe the spit from her cheek.

"So," she said, hoping to break the awkward tension that had settled over the group. "You are dwarves of Erebor? That actually explains a lot."

Thorin curled his lip at her. "Like what, elf?"

"Ah, so we're back to that are we? And here I thought I'd been promoted; to _woman_."

"You avoid my question."

Ilma snorted. "Well, there's the racism, for one. _And_," she added, blatantly stooping to meet his glare head on. "You're a mite bit shorter than the average dwarf."

His eyes widened, and she stood, laughing. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she followed Elrond out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Yay! Another one! I'm on a roll, baby!**

**I _really_ like how this turned out. Ilma is so precious_!_ (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ **

**(｡･ω･｡)**

* * *

Thorin stood on the terrace, listening halfheartedly to the merriment of his fellows below. He cringed as he heard something break, silently cursing his Company for their crudeness. His ear twitched as Gandalf's voice carried up to him, and he descended one flight of stairs to better hear what he was saying, but, seeing the halfling there, hesitated.

"I think you can trust me to know what I'm doing." The old wizard was saying, his tone indignant.

"Do you?" The elf lord replied. "That dragon has slept for sixty years, what will happen if your plan should fail? If you should wake the beast?"

Thorin inhaled angrily; did the ancient fool really think he had not considered these things before raising the call to arms?

"And if we should succeed?" Gandalf returned, just as forceful. "If the dwarves take back their mountain, then our defences in the east will be strengthened!"

The dwarf king snorted; of course, the wizard had his own agenda.

"The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright!" The old man continued. "What have we to fear?"

"Have you forgotten?" Elrond returned, his voice lowered but not so hushed that Thorin could not hear it. "A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness," Thorin felt his lip curl in distaste as he elf continued."Can you swear that Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?"

Thorin felt his anger fade into a deep, cold feeling, and he ignored the halfling as he turned and left. As much as he hated to admit it, the elf's words held some truth in them. Even he could not foretell what he would do when faced with the Arkenstone.

Perhaps, he, too, would be driven mad with greed.

"Are you alright?"

He started at the interruption of his thoughts, scowling as the pale elf came into view. She was hanging precariously from a branch above his head, her head cocked at an odd angle as she looked at him.

"What do you want, elf?"

She blinked at him silently, the motion eerie. "You're not mad, Thorin Oakenshield. Not yet, anyway."

He scoffed. "Do not tell me what I already know."

She smiled, suddenly taking on an air of benign maturity. "Even if you were, it wouldn't matter. Not to them," she turned her gaze to where the dwarves were settling down to sleep. "Or to me, for that matter. Most folk call Radagast mad, and he's very dear to me. Why should I treat a friend any differently?" Her smile widened into a grin, and her childlike innocence was back. "We _a__re_ friends, aren't we?"

He snorted. "No."

"Eh? Why not?" She dropped from out of the tree, her dress catching in several places and tearing with the force of her fall. "I thought we were getting on smashingly!"

"You obviously have no experience with friends." He squared his shoulders and began to trek down to his fellows. He did not miss the way her face fell, and he mentally prayed she would leave.

"Yes, I do!" The elf exclaimed, following him. Her footfalls her harsh, though quiet, not at all like her silent kin. "I was friends with a bear once."

"Oh, really?" He said, his expression carefully stoic.

She stood straight, pounding her chest with boyish pride. "I named him Artan!"

"And what does that mean?"

Her smile grew sheepish. "Bear."

He snorted through his nose in derision. "Just as I thought." He turned to go, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He tossed a glare her way, and she removed it quickly, as if she had been burned.

"Right! No touching! I remember. I just wanted to ask you a question."

He almost rolled his eyes. "Ask. I have elsewhere to be."

"Which tree is the most beautiful?"

What? He turned to regard her fully, certain it was some jest, but her expression had lost all levity.

He looked out into the garden, unsure whether he should just point and say "That one," just to get her to leave him alone or to truly consider it. Just as he was about to take the easy way out, something caught his eye. A small, withered tree sat artfully hidden behind two of its brethren, its black branches glowing in the moonlight.

"Ah," the elfmaid said, following his gaze. "That one. Good choice; I agree." He looked askance at her and she chuckled. "Though scarred and forgotten, that tree is the kindest, most considerate tree in all of Rivendell. He is humble, but not insecure, and he isn't afraid to say what's on his mind. He knows he's not much compared to the others around him, but he doesn't let that dissuade him. He's pertinacious and quick witted. Why," she paused and met his gaze, the moonlight making her eyes a vibrant white. "He's a lot like you, wouldn't you say?"

He kept quiet, having no answer to such honest praise. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Good night, woman." He said.

She laughed softly, "Good night, Master Oakenshield."


	11. Chapter 11

**Woohoo! Another! And it's longer!**

* * *

Ilma stood, stretching under the morning sun. She'd managed to sneak out of Rivendell after her conversation with the Dwarf King, just narrowly escaping a summons to the "Guardian's Meeting". Ugh. She knew her place in the world, and most certainly did _n__ot_ need a group of old men to tell her how to stay in it. The trees were her concern, just as men were Gandalf's and the elves were Elrond's, and it was high time she found out what was making them ill. She sat back down on the branch where she'd spent the night, silently thanking the tree for letting her sleep in it. The sound of clashing metal reached her ears from below, and she looked down, surprised.

There, at the base of the tree, was the group of dwarves she had left behind in Rivendell. She smiled.

"Hail, dwarves!" She shouted down to them, laughing when they jumped to their feet. "Up here!"

They looked up and Ilma waved before making her way down. As soon her feet hit the ground, she found herself surrounded by dwarves, all clamoring for her attention. Thorin made his way to the front of the group, his face drawn into its usual scowl.

"Why are you following us, woman?"

Ah, so she'd managed to keep her promotion. Wonderful. "Ah, dear Oakenshield, I hate to correct you, but _you_," her finger hovered over his nose, close enough to feel his warmth, "are following _me_. I left before you did," she added, drawing her hand back to tuck her hair behind her ear. "So this is merely a pleasant coincidence for us to start the day with."

His scowl didn't lessen as he turned and left her with his men, and she didn't bother to hide her smile.

"You have no supplies, lass," said one dwarf - Bombur - in surprise.

"Anything I need the land will provide," she replied, smiling up at the tree who'd given her sanction.

"How do you cut your meat?" One of the younger ones asked, and she noted his resemblance to their leader.

"She's an elf, Kili," his blond counterpart scolded, hitting him over his head. "They don't eat meat."

The brothers began squabbling amongst themselves, and they were unceremoniously shoved from the ring surrounding the woman.

"Why did you leave?" A soft voice asked, and she looked down at Bilbo. "Rivendell, I mean. I thought you'd be thrilled to finally be among your own people."

Ilma snorted. "Those stuffy old fools? No, thank you."

"Where were you headed?" Asked a dwarf with a strange looking hat. "If you weren't following us, as you claim you weren't."

What a suspicious lot. "I was planning on finding whatever's making the Greenwood sick. If I can eliminate it at its source, the forest should be free to start healing."

The dwarf's gaze softened as he smiled. "You truly care for your trees, don't you lass?"

"Of course, I do; they've always cared for me, it's only natural I do the same."

"Will you be traveling with us, then?" Bilbo asked, his expression hopeful.

"No," Thorin interjected from across the camp, drawing everyone's attention. "We cannot allow any distractions from our quest."

Ilma smiled again, just because she knew it annoyed him. "You're right, of course. And there's no telling when we might part ways." She looked down the road longingly before turning back to Thorin. "Although, there _i__s_ safety in numbers."

"No."

She pouted, "Fine, I'll go. But, if it happens again, I get to stay."

"It won't."

* * *

It did.

Thorin glared up at the woman in the tree above their camp. She'd made herself known to the Company while he was off speaking with Balin about how to make up for their lack of ponies. When they'd returned to camp, they'd found her hanging upside down from a low branch, her hair dangerously close to the fire. Now, she sat having a hushed conversation with Fili and Kili, her eyes dangerously bright.

She was as bad as they were.

"Will you let her travel with us?" Balin asked, and Thorin crossed his arms over his chest.

"She will leave us when our paths divide." He said, pulling at his beard in thought. "In the mean time, she may prove a needed distraction."

Balin nodded, "It is nice to see them smile again, isn't it?"

Thorin hummed in agreement as his nephews burst into laughter as the elfmaid finished her story. She clapped her small hands in delight, looking for all the world like a small child playing with her favorite toy. Sighing, he shouted over the din of conversation.

"We turn in now if we are to rise with first light!" A collective groan of disappointment met his ears and he scowled. "I will take first watch."

Balin nodded, moving to join the rest of the Company.

"I'll join you." He nearly jumped as the woman spoke beside him, her smile wide and unassuming. "We could use some bonding time, you and me."

He snorted derisively. "I do not need your help, elf."

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "I thought we were past that!"

Thorin turned away from her, fully intending to leave her with the camp, but her footsteps followed him, and he sighed.


	12. Chapter 12

**You know what's been an ongoing thing between me and my friend lately? Sassy Thorin. I know, I know, it makes no sense! But I love it! I just wanted to ask any of you artsy readers if you felt like drawing a sassy Thorin for us. Flippin' his hair and sparkling! EEEE~! I love it! **

**(´ ▽｀).。❤ **

* * *

Thorin looked up at the shadowy form of the Misty Mountains, their jagged peaks illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning. Behind him, his nephews spat rainwater at each other, much to the elf's delight. He was loathe to hike the trails without Gandalf, and the rain did nothing to encourage such reckless behavior, but if they were to make up for their lost time, then they had no choice to brave the storm.

"We should find shelter," Balin shouted over the sound of water hitting stone. "We cannot continue in this torrent."

Fili laughed uproariously, and Thorin turned around.

"I think Ilma's got it covered!"

The elf parted the hair that had fallen into her face, concealing it from the world like a pair of white silk curtains. Her pale eyes peeked out at him as she smiled, water dripping down her face. There was a bruise under one eye where she'd hit herself after tripping over her skirts. She's nearly torn them off in her frustration, and only the halfling's insistence had her keeping any sort of propriety. The Dwarf King rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the trail ahead.

They were such children.

"We continue! No storm will keep us from our birthright."

"Is that your mountain?" The woman asked.

"No."

She nodded sagely, her hair falling back into her face. "I thought it seemed a bit too easy."

He sighed; the woman was beginning to try his nerves.

"So," she began after a while, running her hand against the mountainside. "How long do you think this rain will last?"

He ignored her, pressing forward in the hopes that she would understand his rebuff and keep to his like-minded nephews. She matched his pace, her smile unfazed.

"You're not one for small talk, are you?"

She was either desperate for company or truly dense. He stopped when she yelped, clutching to his shoulder as she stumbled.

The path was getting narrower.

"Stick to the wall!" He yelled over a crack of thunder, spitting the hair from his mouth as he followed his own advice, pointedly ignoring the small hand that clung shakily to his coat.

The rain got gradually worse, until the drops themselves hurt like hailstones, and the rock beneath Thorin's feet became treacherously wet. Going booted was hard enough; he didn't want to think about the hardship faced by the barefooted members of his Company. He was beginning to regret continuing through the rain, but he kept his expression neutral. It was only once the hobbit almost fell that he gave in to his misgivings.

"We must find shelter," he shouted, eyes scanning the rock face for any sign of a cave.

"Look out!" Dwalin shouted, and he turned his gaze to the sky, eyes widening as a giant boulder fell from the clouds, crashing against the mountain above them. Debris fell upon them, and he felt the woman's grip slacken. Looking back, he saw blood on her face and a lifeless expression in her eyes. Moving by instinct, he grabbed her by the wrist and snapped her out of her lethargy before she could tumble from the cliff.

"This is no thunderstorm!" Balin called from the back of the line. "It's a thunder_battle_!"

Thorin watched in horrified awe as rock peeled itself from the mountainside, revealing it's true form as a stone titan, recently awakened from its centuries long slumber. It tore the peak off of its stony bed, lifting it onto its shoulder.

"Well ,bless me," Bofur shouted, a hand to his hat. "The legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!"

Thorin's eyes widened as the creature launched its weapon toward their mountain, heaving a sigh of relief as it rushed past and collided with another titan. Pulling the elf down with him, he shouted to his kin.

"Take cover, you fools!"

Everyone scrambled to get as close to the wall as possible as more stones fell from above. A great rumbling sounded from within the mountain, and Thorin felt his insides freeze with dread. Looking back, his fears were confirmed as a wide crack split the Company in two. He turned his gaze skyward, struggling to remain upright as the titan whose legs they stood upon was pushed back. The elf leaned against him, her eyes wide and unseeing as their leg hit the true mountain, connecting conveniently with the rest of the path.

"Thorin?" she asked, frightened. "What's happening?"

He didn't answer, choosing instead to save her life by dragging her off the beast and out of the way of several falling boulders. She stumbled into him, and he righted her quickly. Thorin's half of the Company watched as their companions held on for dear life as the titans fought with painfully slow movements. Pieces of the mountain were torn off and used as bludgeons, one titan knocking off another's head with the force of its blow. Unfortunately, this was the titan that the dwarves - and hobbit - were standing on.

Thorin watched in horror as his people whizzed by as the titan's corpse fell. The beast's knee struck the path ahead of them, and he felt grief consume him.

"No!" he shouted, stumbling almost blindly to where the beast had no doubt deposited the corpses of his kin. "No!"

Once the titan had fallen away, Thorin's pace doubled, and he rounded the bend, stopping in his tracks as he counted every life dwarf and hobbit. He smiled, scoffing in relief. Only then did he notice that he still held the woman's wrist in his hand, his nails biting into her flesh with the tightness of his grip. He shifted his hand's position, looking away from her despite knowing she couldn't see him. He ducked into a cave, assessing it quickly.

"Looks safe enough."

"Search the back," he replied, nodding to Dwalin. "Caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied. Elf," she turned to face him, and he noted with a scowl that one pupil was larger than the other. "Come with me."


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey, everybody! Guess what! I got a bunny yesterday! ****( ˘ ³˘) ****I'm so happy! Commander Fluffers to the rescue!**

( ＾◡＾)

* * *

Ilma winced reflexively as Balin poked at her head - at least, she thought he was Balin. Her vision was a bit blurry.

"I'll be fine, friend dwarf," she said, smiling. "I've been blinded before."

"I'll not have you slowing us down," Thorin replied, and she fell silent in surprise. She must have hurt herself badly if she mistook the king for his aide.

Why was everything so white?

"Master Oakenshield, I'm fine," she said, placing her hand over his and hissing when she brushed her cut. "Just show me where it is and I'll handle it."

He was silent for a moment before sighing, guiding her hand roughly to the tender flesh.

By Eru, that hurt.

She inhaled through her nose, gathering her power through the earth beneath her. The scent of dirt and rain and dust filled her, and she sneezed. Rather painfully. Her fingers had dug into her injury out of reflex.

"Argh," she groaned, inciting many chuckles from the dwarves around her. "Blasted rain."

Grumbling under her breath, she again reached for her traditional source of power, only to find nothing but empty air beneath the rock upon which she stood. Confused, and greatly concerned, she tried to stand, reaching out blindly in the hopes of finding a solid wall.

"Woah, there, lass," a dwarf - Bofur, if the shape of his hat was enough to go by - said. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need to find a wall," Ilma ground out through gritted teeth.

"Whatever for?" Bofur asked, cheerfully confused.

"The earth is my source of power, friend dwarf. I need solid stone if I'm to heal this wound."

"Wouldn't the stone under our feet do?" Bilbo asked innocently as Bofur kindly lead her to one of the cave walls.

Ilma sighed as she felt the indomitable strength of the mountain thrum beneath her fingertips. She channelled it into herself, modifying the raw strength into a healing energy that quickly engulfed her body. Her vision blurred, then cleared, and the pain in her head was quickly gone. Turning to face the hobbit, Ilma shrugged, smiling.

"Well, the floor beneath us is hollow, for one."

The poor dear's eyes widened dramatically, and Ilma held up her hands placatingly. Before she could give an utterance of reassurance, Thorin was storming toward her, an angry scowl back in place.

"What did you say, elf?" Again with the 'elf' nonsense? "How can you know this?"

Ilma rolled her eyes, giving the shorter man a spitefully petulant look. "If it were solid, then I wouldn't have needed the wall, now would I?"

They glared at each other, blue eyes meeting violet. Ilma was the first to look away, her attention caught by something decidedly more interesting than a little man with self esteem issues.

"How do you know the mountain beneath us is hollow?" He asked, albeit more calmly than before. Ilma held up a hand to silence him, her ears twitching.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

The dwarf king gave her an exasperated look, no doubt convinced she was avoiding the question, sorry clod. "Hear what?"

She cocked her head, listening carefully as she looked toward the back of the cave where Dwalin was still snooping about.

"Nothing, Master Oakenshield," she said at last, turning back to him with a small smile. "I am imagining things." She only hoped she wasn't lying.

* * *

Ilma listened to the dwarves sleep, their snores endearing in their loudness. Radagast snored, as well, when he allowed himself to sleep. He often spent days in the wilds, coming back incredibly disheveled with tired but smiling eyes. An ache ran through her chest as she thought of the wizard. Certainly, Lord Elrond had killed the orcs before they had caught up to the old man, but had he been alright since? Had he returned to the Greenwood to tend to the creatures there? Or had he, too, succumbed to the sickness.

A nasty thought, that, and one she did not like thinking. All the more reason to find a cure.

Her ears twitched again, catching parts of Bilbo's conversation with Bofur under the same scraping she had heard earlier. How the dwarves who had been born and raised in a mountain didn't notice the rumbling beneath them was beyond her, but, if their king found nothing amiss, who was she to instigate?

"Did you hear that?" Bilbo asked Bofur. Finally.

Thorin stirred from the other side of the cave, standing hastily.

"Get up, you fools!" he said, and Ilma stood, noticing the crack in the sandy floor as it made its way toward the entrance.

She knew it was petty, really she did, but she couldn't resist flashing a triumphant smile in the blue eyed dwarf's direction.

"I told you it was hollow."

Then the floor was gone from beneath them, and they fell, Ilma laughing to herself at the livid expression that had crossed Thorin's face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry this took so long to get out to y'all. And I'm sorry to say that this may be the last for a while. I won't have a computer until well into the summer once school lets out, and I have to turn in my laptop on Wednesday. I promise to do what I can, when I can, but please don't hurt me if these updates are few and far between.**

* * *

Thorin cursed himself as he tumbled with the rest of his company down a long downward spiral. Surely there had been some sign of this, something he had missed.

_Of course, there was,_ he chastised himself. _The elf saw them, and you ignored her._

Blasted female looked to be enjoying herself, too, laughing and screaming in delight as she was. She had that childish grin in place again, her hair flaring out behind her as she slid past him. The dwarves poured out into an enclosure, of sorts, and Thorin promptly found himself caught between the woman and Bombur.

"Well," she said breathlessly from beneath him, her purple eyes glittering. "I must say that you look very different from this angle."

So did she.

His men began crying out in alarm as a host of hunchbacked goblins ran toward them, and Thorin himself was pulled unceremoniously to his feet. Ilma cried out behind him, but, before he could look back, he was tossed to the front of the line and dragged behind a particularly nasty looking goblin. They protested all the way as they were pulled across bridges and beneath overhangs, the cries of bats screeching in their ears. Thorin gaped in sick fascination as the little cave paths they'd been led down opened up into a veritable city of goblin lights and bridges, gongs and primitive horns sounding the arrival of the dwarves. Then he saw it...or him. On a large throne - for it had to be large - sat a grotesquely obese goblin many times the height of its kin, an oblong double chin hanging from his jowls.

The beast stood as the dwarves were pushed across one final bridge, several of the smaller variety rushing to help keep him upright.

"I feel a song coming on!" He shouted over the din as Thorin was forced to his knees in front of him.

"Clap snap, the black crack

Grip, grab, pinch, and nab

Batter and beat

Make 'em stammer and squeak!

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town."

The monster began to dance, his fat jiggling. The goblins of the 'town' had begun to crowd around what was presumably their leader, possibly king, singing along. Thorin turned his head, hoping to avoid the traumatizing sight, only to find Ilma bouncing to the beat.

"What?" She asked when she noticed his glare. "It's catchy."

"With a swish and smack

And a whip and a crack

Everybody talks when they're on my rack

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town."

One of the goblins stumbled into the woman beside him, and Thorin pulled back as she fell into him. Her hands scrambled for purchase lest she fall again, and he begrudgingly let her hold onto his coat once more as he got to his feet, signaling to the others to do the same. How he wished that this song was over and done with.

"Hammer and tongs, get out your knockers and gongs

You won't last long on the end of my prongs

Clash, crash, crush and smish

Bang, break, shiver and shake.

You can yammer and yelp

But there ain't no help

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town."

And then, as quickly as they began, the festivities were over, and the goblin king stepped over his own king to reach his throne, smiling down at them as if he were some benign ruler as they were stripped of their weapons.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into _my_ kingdom?" He asked suddenly, bringing his face uncomfortably close. "Spies? Thieves? Assassins?" With each word he grew more paranoid, eyes widening in their sockets.

"Dwarves, your malevolence," a narrow face goblin sniveled. "And an elf. Found 'em on the front porch."

"Well, don't just stand there!" He commanded. "Search them!"

Thorin quickly found himself on the receiving end of many groping hands, and he strove to shove them away.

"Ah!" The woman yelped, pressing closer to his back. "Don't touch me there!"

The goblins laughed at her expense, unconcealed lust in their eyes as they swarmed on her, and Thorin quickly stepped between them.

"Keep your hands off her," his nephew, Fili, said, joining him in her defense. Several others of the company stepped into formation, around her. Gallant as their intentions were, their actions left their bag of spoils from Rivendell free for the taking.

"It is my belief, your great protuberance, that they are in league with elves!"

The king tossed aside the candlestick handed to him, "That much is already obvious. What remains to be seen is why they have come."

Thorin made to step forward and tell the beast exactly who he had in his possession, but Dwalin held him back, and no one stepped forward. The goblin king nodded his head as if he had expected this.

"Very well, if you will not talk, we'll make you squawk!" The goblins around them cheered, and Thorin felt apprehension well in his gut. Several of the company shifted from foot to foot and their captor turned back to them. "Start with the youngest!"

Ori's mouth fell open and they all swarmed to protect him, moving as one solid unit. Well, most of them. The goblin king's face split into a wide grin.

"Never mind, I want the oldest; bring me the elf!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Tada! Just for you!**

* * *

Ilma froze as all eyes went to her, and she smiled - a nervous habit. Goblins rushed toward her, their hands reaching for things other than her arms.

Oh, they sure knew how to rile a woman.

"Wait!" The voice rang out, clear and strong over the noise of the goblin wretches, and Ilma watched in horrified awe as Thorin stepped out from the crowd.

_Idiot, he'll kill you! Thank you for this, but you're blasted **stupid**!_

"Well," the goblin king said, smiling from ear to ear. "Look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, King under the Mountain." He bowed, a mocking gesture. "Oh!" He straightened. "But I'm forgetting, you don't _have_ a mountain. And you're not a king. Which makes you...nobody really."

Ilma watched as Thorin's face fell, and she resisted the urge to yell out a confidence. Just barely, but she did it.

"I know someone," the giant continued. "Who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, and nothing attached. Perhaps, you know of whom I speak; an old enemy of yours." Ilma rolled her eyes at the melodrama. "A pale orc, with a white warg."

"Oh, you mean Azog?" All eyes turned to her, and Ilma shrunk under the attention. "What? There aren't many orcs who match that description."

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," Thorin said angrily. "He was slain in battle long ago."

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" He tittered inanely before turning to a small goblin in a basket. "Send word to the pale orc. Tell him : I have found his prize. Oh, and," He turned back to the group, smiling widely. "Don't forget to mention the elf. A pale bride for the pale orc, I'm sure he'll be pleased." Ilma felt the bile rising in her throat even as her anger clouded her vision. "Go!"

"What makes you think he'll want me?" She heard herself ask as the little goblin sped away. "Azog already has an heir."

The goblin king chuckled grotesquely. "And how would you be knowing that? Hmm?" He stomped toward her, leaning heavily on his staff. "Oh, don't think I don't know who you are, Elf of the Greenwood! Word has travelled far and wide of your alliance with the white orc!"

She smiled up at him, ignoring the whispers that reached her ears. "It is not an alliance, and it isn't with Azog."

The giant's face contorted with anger. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Yes, actually." When had she gotten so bold? "My agreement is with the warg."

He rolled his eyes, tromping away from her. "Oh, yes, because there's _such_ a difference."

"There is," she began, slowly inching her way toward the pile of weapons. "Wargs do not pillage, and they do not burn, but most importantly," she kicked out with her foot, knocking Thorin's blade loose from it's scabbard. "They obey the hierarchy."

The goblin king leapt onto his throne, cowering. "I know that sword!" He shouted. "It is the Goblin Cleaver!"

All of the surrounding goblins hissed, rushing in all directions to get away from the elven blade.

"Kill them," the king cried. "Kill them all!"

_That_ didn't go exactly as planned.

Ilma reached into herself, perfectly ready to reach into her own reserves to defend herself and her dwarves, but before she could utter the word of power, a great light burst through the dark of the cave, bright and pure and **blinding**. She was flattened to the ground by the force of the blast, her back colliding with someone. Or something.

"Take up arms," Gandalf's voice rang out through the silence. "Fight."

Suddenly, Ilma found herself surrounded by the sounds of combat. Blasted Gandalf and his penchant for light! Didn't he know how that would affect someone with her condition?

"What are you doing, lass?" Bofur asked over the din. "Defend yourself!"

"I would, master dwarf," she began, once again drawing from her reserves in the hopes of casting a spell. "But yon wizard has blinded me."


End file.
